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Upvotes at import: 2262 | Stars at import: 1750
Posted previously at: 2015-10-03T12:26:07 | Posted previously by: Camled
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When the rain pours down on dry soil and fallen leaves, the air fills with a very distinct scent. To some it's simply a natural phenomenon after the storm, to some it's the reminder that the summer is gone.
—
Back a week or so, an inspiration struck me after taking a walk in the forest and realizing how in mere weeks everything turned from green to rust. And there's always that distinct smell of petrichor and dead leaves mixing. Who took mah summer away?
Upvotes at import: 2262 | Stars at import: 1750
Posted previously at: 2015-10-03T12:26:07 | Posted previously by: Camled
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WD8HTfvZt1A
Southern bound from Glasgow town, she's
shining in the sun, my Scotstoun lassie on
the border run.
We're whistling down the hillsides and tearing
up the climbs, I'm just a thiever, stealing time
in the Border Reiver.
300,000 on the clock and plenty more to go,
crash, box and lever, she needs the heel and
toe.
She's not too cold in winter, but she cooks
me in the heat, I'm a 6-foot driver, but you
can adjust the seat in the Border Reiver.
Sure as the sunrise, that's what they say
about the Albion.
Sure as the sunrise, that's what they say
about the Albion.
She's an Albion, she's an Albion.
The ministry, don't worry me, my paperwork's
alright, they can't touch me, I got my sleep
last night.
It's knocking out a living wage in 1969, I'm
just a thiever, stealing time in the Border
Reiver.
Sure as the sunrise, that's what they say
about the Albion.
Sure as the sunrise, that's what they say
about the Albion.
She's an Albion, she's an Albion.
Edited